


number five

by vanillaicecreampie



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: F/M, PWP, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sorry Not Sorry, UST at it best, que sera sera bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:54:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25364929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillaicecreampie/pseuds/vanillaicecreampie
Summary: Each fantasy is far more real than the previous one and Five is about to feel the roughness of the floor in her office with his same trembling knees.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy/The Handler (Umbrella Academy)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 64





	number five

**Author's Note:**

> yep, that’s a Fandler nc fic  
> I’m not sorry

“Good morning, _Number Five_.”  
  
“You look lovely today, _Number Five_.”

“Wanna have lunch with me, _Number Five_?”

Number Five. Number Five. _Number Five_.

“ _Numberrrrr Five_ ” – savoring like a sixties-flavoured candy.

“ _Number Fiiiiive_ ” – hoarsely-suffocatingly moans the third time in the last fifteen minutes and the letters on the typewriter tremble of tune with his knees. Go blurry, dabbling like dead fish in a muddy sea.

“ _Fi-ve_ ” – wedges a gasp into the middle of his name-not-name and pulls, pulls his hair.

“Fuck,” – mumbles he to himself when she breaks a preorgasmic silence with a scream. Each fantasy is far more real than the previous one and Five is about to feel the roughness of the floor in her office with his same trembling knees.

“Mister Five,” – a pesky colleague tweets behind his back, when he jumps up from his chair, – “need help? Maybe...”

“Maybe not,” – he cuts her off; too abruptly, too loud – deafened with one more imaginary lustful sob, – “back in fifteen minutes.”  
  
He races through the building and each step plumbeously hits the back of his head. He knows her scent perfectly. So much perfectly that he sees every corner and corridor she’s been in only by smelling, like Theseus’ ball of thread unwound. There is the nook she walked through about ten minutes ago. Floating slowly to the sound of her heels, carrying her powdery perfume on the lacy decolette. 

“ _Number Five_ ,” – her honey-like voice nonexistently re echoes in his head. Now she rides him – soft, heavy; moves on him in tune of chesty groans, o-like, and he feels the peachy-bloominess of the skin on her thigh with his fingers right now. He thinks – that’s what it’s like – her skin. He thinks – that’s what she all is like – like she appears in his mind: smooth, wet, loud. From what is real, the only thing his body knows is her fingers upon his cheek; every time it’s a lust to fawn on them mind-numbingly, suck up into the mouth and bite all the way to the shameful “more”. He thinks, she’d try to have them deep in his mouth, holding his head with the other hand. He thinks, she’d do that until he started choking on. He’s sure, she’d laugh and platinum waves of her hair would sway in a playful I-don’t-care manner. Closing the bathroom stall door, he hears a rippling laughter almost for real. 

“ _Number Five_ ,” – the sound of pants unzipped is loud enough if one really can hear him; but not enough to silence her horny whisper in his head. The snake’s call goes down somewhere to his chest and he throws it from his lungs soundlessly-long. It almost hurts to touch yourself on this stage. Leaning on the wall with a bend-elbowed hand – cold and uncomfortable, yet trembled legs are now anything but trustful. The pulled up shirt bares a delicate hand, and “oh, Five, don’t stop” pounds in his temples. She’d staccato whimper that right into his lips and the very next second her mouth’d be hot as hell itself. He licks his wrist and presses on the bulging vein with his tongue. Sucks, thinking – yes, that’s it – that’s what her neck’d be like.

It’s freezingly scary – suddenly hear the taps click-clacking on the tile floor. It’s excitingly indifferent to hear with his frizzing spines the door squeaking.

“ _Aren’t you_ ,” – she cuddles him never-felt-before gently and licks all over his ear, – “ _sweet_.”

She almost moans: “ _Would you cum for me, Number Five_?” – and goes under his shirt.

“ _Yeah_ ,” – he falls into her arms and shivers feverlike, “ _yeah_.” He feels a pleased grin fondling his jaw line and catches her lips, cumming.

He wants to spill all over her black dress and flow inside every single cell of her gorgeous body.

He wants to cry-scream and smash his fists against the tire.

He wants to drown in his tears whilst kneeling before her, kissing her stockings’ silk on the inner thigh.

He hears departing footsteps through the vacuum of a hysterical derealization.

“Wanna have lunch with me, _Number Five_?”

**Author's Note:**

> omg guys, I’m not a native speaker, sorry  
> it’s one of my favorite own fics in Russian so I’ve chosen it to be the first one to be translated into English and published here  
> hope for comments and some support  
> doing my best❤️


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